


The Stone Cold Truth

by Ponder_ings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponder_ings/pseuds/Ponder_ings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm trying something new here - I'm writing this a bit at a time and have no idea where exactly it's going. Well, it's smuff, it's Sterek, it's gonna contain puppy piles and protective Derek and underage Stiles and at least some sort of super cool Sheriff Stilinski action (because the Sheriff rocks socks). When I'm done and we all know what happens I'll do a blurby type thing then...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Bad Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> For Catherine - because there is not such a thing as too much Stiles or too much Derek in one's life and Catherine showed me the way...

  
“How is this my life?” thinks Stiles as he gets bumped by Jackson and goes flying halfway down the lacrosse pitch. Okay, maybe not halfway down, but far enough and that mother-fucker hurt.  To be fair, getting pushed by Jackson on the lacrosse pitch was nothing new, just these days he had a little more strength to him, because, you know, werewolf. Asshole. Pulling himself up he settled for glaring and carried on running pitch lengths as per coach Finstock’s instructions. 

  
“Are you alright?” asked Scott running up alongside him. “I can take him down if you want.”

  
“Thanks bro’,” Stiles mentally hi-fived his best buddy, “but it’s all cool. I’ve decided to be the better man.”

  
“You are the better man.” Scott said loyally as Jackson ran past snickering at them. 

  
“Being the better man would require him being a man,” he called over his shoulder as he ran past them.

  
How could that be a point? 

  
“I’m the same age as you,” Stiles called after him. 

  
“It’s not the age that defines a man but the actions... or lack of them.” Even from this distance was obvious what Jackson was implying and Stiles blushed.

  
“Yeah well I guess that makes you an animal then...” Stiles called lamely after him. Not a good idea when there were four other werewolves present, he could sense the glares from where he ran. Even Erica, chatting to Lydia and Alison in the bleachers was sending voodoo kill vibes towards him. Bad decision number one.

  
 “Sorry!” he muttered, raising his hands defensively. Geez, who knew werewolves could be so sensitive.

  
Unfortunately this was the highlight of his day.

  
****

  
Four pissed werewolves in the locker rooms was not fun. Well, three technically because Scott would never admit to being pissed, even if Stiles knew the ‘animal’ remark probably hurt him the most. After all, he’d spent the past year trying to prove to everyone (read Alison) that he was anything but an animal. Whatever. Four, three – irritating werewolves was a seriously bad idea. Especially before a pack meeting.

  
Jackson was the one who shoved all his clothes in the showers but Boyd and Isaac definitely laughed. Scott half-heartedly tried to stop things from proceeding and offered Stiles his spare sweatpants, but there was no way Stiles was going commando in his best bro’s pants. Retrieving his soaked clothes he put on his dirty lacrosse clothes and told Scott he’d meet him at Derek’s after he’d gone home and changed. Bad decision number two.

  
****

  
As it was, he didn’t even make it out of the parking lot. Hell, he didn’t even make it to the jeep. He barely made it passed the front entrance. And, he is without a doubt, blaming this entire sequence of events on Jackson _Asshole_ Whitmore. 

  
If Jackson hadn’t soaked all his clothes then he wouldn’t have been wandering out into the darkening autumnal parking lot, trying to decide whether a sodden jock strap would have been a better choice than going commando in baggy lacrosse shorts, because frankly feeling his balls swinging free in this temperature was not exactly fun. Okay, it wasn’t exactly Canadian temperature or anything that silly, but even in Beacon Hills it was enough to make his nuts tighten a little. 

  
In fact, maybe forgoing the jock strap was bad-decision two and leaving alone was bad-decision three. Whatever. By the time he’d realised he’d made three bad decisions, he was sitting bound to a chair in the middle of a dingy basement with the worst headache ever (and that included the whole cousin-Miguel-Derek-smacking-his-head-on-the-steering-wheel moment). 

  
The room was dank and cold and smelt of mold. 

  
To make matters worse, the way he’d been tied, his short leg had got caught up and he was exposing bits of himself to the room. Yep, wet jock strap would definitely have been a better way to go. It’s surprising how distracting flashing your dick can be in a life threatening situation. And he was pretty sure it was life threatening, judging from the butt-ugly creature stood in front of him, grinning all over its god-awful face.

  
“Really?” he said. “Kidnapping with intent wasn’t enough, you had to add a little humiliation in there too?”

  
The thing, (was it a golem? No, too small. Talos...nah, not bronze enough...what was it?) shook his head. 

  
“No what, asshole?” Stiles asked. His head was thumping and he really, _really,_ didn’t need to play some kind of charades with a creature made of stone.

  
Stone.

  
A gargoyle?

  
Crap, his head hurt. And his dick was more than a little chilly. And what the hell did he know about gargoyles other than the fact they were made of stone and hung around on church roofs.  And they were seriously butt-ugly. Not that he was one to judge, but you know, the truth is the truth...right?

  
_And where the hell was a werewolf when you needed one?_


	2. Sourwolf

  
The werewolves were, in fact, trying to start a pack meeting. They were all lounging about Derek’s new apartment as if they owned the place...which he supposed they kinda did seeing as he was the first to admit it was pack property. He didn’t admit that the feeling of a pack den made him feel warm inside. 

  
Except, right now, not all of the pack was there. There was a distinctly _annoying_ _human_ shaped hole in this meeting. Derek was getting just a little ~~worried~~ pissed “Where the hell is he, Scott?”

  
Scott held his hands up. “I don’t know dude, he went home to get changed, he said he’d meet us here.” He looked at the alpha’s glowing eyes. “Blame Jackson, he’s the one who got his clothes soaked.” Jackson growled – but Derek growled louder. 

  
Then he glared. He wanted to start this meeting and couldn’t without Stiles. Stiles had done the research on the last lot of fae that had come through town. He was the only one who knew if they were likely to be gone for good and that was the only reason he needed him here. _It was._

  
“The fae won’t be back,” said Lydia from where she was perched on the couch, inspecting her nails with the kind of affected bored abandon that only she could carry off. “Once they realised there _was_ an established werewolf pack here they decided it was too much bother. They like mischief, but only if it’s easy.” She raised an eyebrow at Derek, as if challenging him to ask again where Stiles was.

  
He ignored her, shoved down his discomfort – annoyance, he corrected in his own head - at Stiles not being there, glared at everyone for good measure and started asking about perimeter patrols.

  
“The schedule seems to be working pretty well,” reported back Boyd, his tone as calm and unruffled as ever. “Stilinski did a good job with the rota, he’s got our school timetables worked out well enough that we can’t get out of homework.” Beside him Erica rolled her eyes.

  
“Homework is important Erica if you are ever going to get out of here and go to college.” God knew, Derek would have liked the opportunity.

  
“Yes daddy,” she said, sarcasm oozing from every pore. 

  
He flashed his eyes at her and turned back to Boyd. “And the partners he suggested are working well?”

  
Boyd nodded. 

  
“Scott?” Derek asked. Scott had been torn between loyalty to his best friend and distaste that he was being scheduled to patrol with anyone other than Alison.

  
“It’s working well.” The reluctance to admit this was loud and clear for all werewolves to hear. “Erica and I have encountered no problems.”

  
“Unless you count the thump to the jaw I gave him for not shutting up about Princess Alison,” Erica added. Scott had the grace to look embarrassed, even if werewolves couldn’t blush.

  
Jackson snorted. “Well Alison and I have nothing to report either.” He looked like he was going to add something – something no doubt calculated to annoy Scott – but glanced at Lydia and thought better of it.

  
After Isaac confirmed he and Boyd had nothing to tell, Derek reported that he and Peter had also seen nothing out of the ordinary.

  
“Maybe we’re going to be left alone now Gerard and Kate are gone,” said Alison. Always the first to acknowledge that the source of all their troubles stemmed from her very own family.

  
 Scott groaned. “Alison, do you ever listen to Stiles? _Never_ say that, it’s like giving the supernatural a handwritten invitation to come and fuck with us.”

  
Alison, Lydia, Jackson, Erica and Isaac all rolled their eyes in weird synchronisation. Derek though, he felt distinctly uncomfortable at the lack of a Stiles at this meeting and Scott’s words set him on edge. Across the room from where he was leaning against a breakfast bar Boyd caught his eye and Derek knew he felt the same way. Time to wrap the meeting up then and see where the annoying one had got to.

  
He toyed with the idea of asking Scott to try and get hold of him again, but he didn’t want a full scale panic at this point. Knowing Stiles he’d gotten caught up in something completely irrelevant and lost track of time, it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened.

  
“Are you going to see where he is?” asked Boyd when the others were out of hearing distance. 

  
Derek nodded, grabbing his car keys from their hook. 

  
“Let me know when you find him.” 

  
Derek nodded again. He’d call, after he’d finished killing the pain in the ass.

  
****

  
The Jeep wasn’t at the Sheriff’s house, nor the Sherriff’s office. Which meant it could basically be anywhere in Beacon Hills. That hunk of junk was too dangerous to be on the road, unreliable, unsafe – he was surprised the Sheriff let him drive around in it. Though it wasn’t his place to judge the Sheriff’s parenting skills, anyone who had raised Stiles on their own, for the past however many years it had been, deserved a medal as far as he was concerned. Annoying, persistent, irritating, so damn bloody quick to put himself in the line of danger, loyal, _vulnerable..._

  
He shook his head and swung the Camero round. He’d start at the school and see if he could get a better idea of where Stiles had gone from there. It might not be quite the same as tracking a human, but even cars had their own distinct smell. The Jeep tended to smell of oil and exhaust. It wasn’t a fucking lot to go on, but it was all he could think of as he flipped his indicator and turned down to Beacon Hills High. 

  
He was so going to...to...to...

  
...do something when he found Stiles. He didn’t know what, but he’d make sure he knew to let Scott at least know where he was instead of going off half-assed on his own.

  
Damn, but that boy was so freaking annoying. He huffed and accelerated a little, just a bit to get to the school faster, not enough to cause an accident. Not with his werewolf reflexes anyway. Wheels squealing a little he pulled into the parking lot of the high school and squealed to a top. 

  
Right beside Stiles’ abandoned Jeep.

  
****


	3. Where the hell is he?

  
It took Derek about five seconds to ascertain that there was nothing wrong with the Jeep (those hotwiring skills he’d acquired in New York, came in handy sometimes). Knowing the Jeep started wasn’t helping him with locating Stiles though. It took him about ten more seconds to decide that now was the time to worry the pack, or at least Scott, and soon the other werewolf was in front of him stinking of fear and anger.

  
“Where is he?” Scott growled. “I’m going to kill Jackson if anything has happened to him. Hell, I’m going to kill _Stiles_ if anything has happened to him.” Derek wanted to point out the stupidity in that statement – but he was feeling exactly the same way himself.

  
“Let’s think about this logically...” said Derek and within half an hour they’d checked the school, rang the Sheriff (at least Scott did - in the worst case of faked nonchalance Derek had ever heard, he seriously hoped the Sheriff was overworked otherwise he’d be worrying with them) and checked in with all non-werewolf friends Scott could think of. The list was surprisingly short and Derek didn’t think about how that made him ache inside a little. Someone as smart and funny and loyal and caring as Stiles deserved to have more friends than the misfit bunch of supernatural creatures they called pack.

  
Then they called an emergency pack meeting.

  
“Has anyone heard from Stiles?” he asked as soon as the last of the pack had arrived at the school parking lot.

  
“No,” said Lydia, “I’m assuming he hasn’t been heard from since the end of school.” She glared at Jackson, which saved Derek the job.

  
Derek shook his head. Scott filled them in.

  
“Patrol partners,” Derek said. “Keep your phones on, and contact me at the first sign of _anything_ amiss.” He directed them to different parts of the town. He and Peter would take the preserve, they knew it better than anyone else and, being born wolves, could rely on senses other than sight, more strongly than the other wolves. Especially useful in the pitch black of the wooded area at night.

  
****

  
Stiles jolted himself awake. He had no idea of the time. He was cold, tired, hungry and severely pissed off. He also had a very dry mouth where an old bit of cloth had been shoved into it after he’d started calling for help. He had no idea where he was but the wolves super sensitive hearing was sometimes a bonus. (Not so much when he was trying for a little private Stiles time, mind).

  
None of that compared to how much his head hurt though. The pain thumping through it was not helping him try and recall any information at all on gargoyles. Way back in third grade they’d had to make gargoyles out of papier mache and paint. He’d adored his third grade teacher for letting him join in – all grades before and since had found excuses to not let the ADHD kid use the art supplies. 

  
He’d been so proud of his gargoyle, it really was the ugliest thing ever seen, but that was kind of the point of gargoyles, right? His had only been outdone in its ugliness by one of the girls in his class, Catherine. He remembered seeing that hanging in her garden at parties right up to the end of grade school, her mom was as proud as if Michelangelo himself had sculpted it. Prouder, he’d bet. It was probably still there, but she’d gone to a different high school and they’d lost touch.

  
All he’d learnt then though was how ugly the damn things were and he didn’t need a memory to tell him that when a real live ugly mother-fucker was standing in front of him. But, ugly and lived on church roofs was about all his aching head could summon. He couldn’t even recall what the gargoyles in Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame were like. He wished he could see his watch so he knew how long he’d been gone for. The way his body had stiffened and shivered in the cold he felt sure it was hours, but in the darkened room he had no way of telling. Would his dad be worried about him yet? Scott? Derek? Or would they be too caught up in pack business (or Alison in Scott’s case) to care?

  
He tried to shuffle in the chair. His ass had gone to sleep and his legs ached from being tied ion the same position for so long. He’d given up caring about the fact that his cock was on display, he was too numb to even notice how cold it was now. The only positive thing he could say about this experience so far was the confirmation that he was pretty sure the bondage scene was not going to be for him. Restraint and pain were _not_ his friends.

  
Closing his eyes against the pain, he tried once again to formulate his thoughts into something helpful.

  
****

  
Derek stuck his nose in the air and sniffed. A hundred scents of home came to him – the trees, the insects, woodland trails and various animals. The diluted washed-out-in-the-rain smells of pack, the occasional whiff of strangers. But none of it smelt of Stiles. It wasn’t until he was hunting for him that he realised quite how attuned to his scent he was. It had taken all his alpha logic not to stay at the parking lot and try to trace Stiles from there. Logic dictated that if Stiles had been snatched by some pack-grudge bearing entity, then they would have used a car so the likelihood of a trail from the school was minimal. The preserve however was the biggest stretch of undeveloped land for miles. The acreage of it was huge and nobody knew it like the two Hales. Nobody.

  
Peter had followed him with remarkable ease. There had been no arguments from him as the two of them had methodically searched their way through the wilds of the preserve. He’d not uttered a word when Derek had gone back over ground that bore the faintest scent of Stiles, even though they both knew it was from a training session the werewolves had held out there a fortnight past.

  
It was Peter who spoke quietly to Derek at sometime just after the witching hour. “I think we ought to tell the Sheriff. He has a right to know his son is missing. It was one of the agreements Stiles had with him when he told him about werewolves and us.”

  
“We’ll find him.” Derek could hear the desperation in his own voice. He didn’t want to have to tell the Sheriff that Stiles was in trouble again. That Derek was more than likely the cause of said trouble – because, like it or not, he knew the chances of this being anything other than supernatural related were so slim they may as well not exist.

  
“We will,” said Peter, his voice not lacking conviction, “but the Sheriff still deserves to know.” Later Derek would question Peter’s concern for the Sheriff, but for now he just wanted to find Stiles and, like it or not, the Sheriff had resources they didn't. He couldn't think about the pain it would bring the Sheriff to know his son was missing, because if he did he would use it as an excuse not to tell him.

  


  
Because if he did it would make him question how much of his own need to find Stiles was pack, and how much was personal.

  


  
Because if he did he would have to think about how much pain _he_ was in, knowing Stiles was missing.

  


  
And _that_ , he couldn't cope with.

  



	4. With friends like this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the really sporadic updates. I hope to be able to be more consistent now! Also, I promise after this small chapter Stiles and Derek will actually be in the same place at the same time!! Thanks for reading guys. :)

  
It was Allison and Jackson who first noticed something amiss. Their patrol took them past one of Beacon Hill’s oldest churches. The stone building was reminiscent of the churches found across England, all stone and stained glass andsteeple. Though it was not used anymore, the citizens of Beacon Hills preferred their worship in a more modern, warmer environment, thank you very much, it had never been officially demolished.

  


  
Instead it was left to decay and rot over the years, occasionally used to inspire art and most often occupied on Halloween, when high schoolers dared each other to enter the old building alone in the middle of the night.

  


  
Despite it being old, abandoned and run-down, every Beacon Hill school child was familiar with it, because they’d all been dragged out here in grade school to sketch it. It meant the steeple was familiar, the, amazingly still intact, stained glass windows, the gray brickwork...and the gargoyles that decorated the water spouts.

  


  
Though Allison hadn’t been at grade school in Beacon Hills, she was one of the most observant people around – coming from a long line of hunter’s would develop that skill in a girl – and so, when her spine started tingling and her sixth sense went into full alert, she made Jackson stop and search every inch of the small graveyard attached to the church.

  


  
Nothing was amiss though. Nada.

  


  
Until Jackson’s nose caught something and in a miracle of miracles he happened to look up and notice the great big chunk of stone missing from the front of the church.

  


  
****

  


  
“Gargoyles?” said Lydia, already typing the term into a search engine and sorting through the available data. She was quite a wonder, brains a plenty and knowledge that would shame many college professors – she was the first to admit though, that she did not have Stiles’ google-fu. Which in practise meant it took approximately ten minutes longer to find the information she needed than it would have Stiles. Derek felt every one of those ten minutes.

  


  
They were once again crowded into Derek’s place, crowded round Lydia, impatiently waiting for her to tell them what she’d found. All of them except Peter that is, who was off telling the Sheriff that once again his son was in the supernatural shit right up to his neck.

  


  
“Okay.” Lydia took a sip from her bottle of water before she resumed speaking (a few seconds in which Derek was sure his blood pressure rose considerably, werewolf traits not withstanding), “Long story short, gargoyles protect humans from the supernatural.”

  


  
Six confused faces turned towards her, Derek knew they only reflected exactly what he was feeling.

  
“So if they protect humans...what is it doing with Stiles?” asked Allison. “He’s nothing but human.”

  
Jackson snorted, seemingly unable to help himself when Stiles was concerned. Derek growled and hoped the look he threw him was enough to make him shut up before he continued the thought that was obviously on the edge of his brain. Then he turned to Lydia, waiting like the rest of them for her to answer Allison’s question. 

  
Lydia shrugged. “There’s that whole spark thing Deaton was on about, but he’s not really embraced that and I don’t think it makes him less human...more just a human with a gift.”

  
This did not answer the question and Derek wanted to pick up the girl and shake the answers out of her. Assaulting his pack was not going to be particularly helpful though so instead he did the best job he could of holding back another snarl and repeated Allison’s question.

  
“Well, the way I see it, they’ve either broken the pattern, it’s not a gargoyle that has him at all or it thinks it’s protecting Stiles.”

  
“From what?” Derek’s mind raced, picturing all the other supernatural entities that could have invaded Beacon Hills without his knowledge and captured the teenager.

  
Lydia gave him _that_ look. The one that said she was seriously questioning his ability to get out of bed in the morning with his obvious lack of brain power. 

  
“From us Derek. Well, you at least.” Her look encompassed all the werewolves in the room.”

  
“And you Lyds,” Allison shrugged apologetically. “Sirens are supernatural too, right?”

  
The redhead tightened her lips, but acknowledged Allison’s point with a nod. 

  
“I think,” Allison pursed her lips thoughtfully, “I think, he is probably safe, wherever he is, and us rescuing him might actually put him in danger.”

  
Derek’s heart sank. What the hell?

  
“So how do we save him? If saving him could endanger him?”


	5. Saved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...they finally are together on page. So that means the next chapters is where the romance be at!! Thanks for reading guys...sorry updating is sporadic!

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

  
“The humans do it.” Sheriff John Stilinski stood in the doorway with Peter and Deaton standing behind him. “Alison, let your dad know we have a situation on our hands.”

  
Derek looked on as the sheriff proceeded to give _his_ pack orders...and found he didn’t care one bit. Anything that meant finding Stiles safe and sound worked for him. He was pack and pack mattered. Derek was so not going to analyze why the constrictions in his throat felt tighter every second Stiles was missing. Or what the ache in his chest was about.

  
Lydia and Deaton searched the web, with Chris helping scour the bestiary when he arrived. Pretty soon they’d armed themselves with all the knowledge they could gain on gargoyles – and most importantly Deaton had a spell that would – theoretically – turn the thing back to solid, unanimated, stone.

  
“Okay,” said the sheriff, pointing at a map he’d pinned to Derek’s wall. “Here is where the church is. This point here is where we feel the gargoyle...” he rolled his eyes and swirled his hand in the air at the word, an indication of _all that supernatural crap_ that Derek had come to expect from him, “is most likely to have my son. Now if what Lydia says is true, then he won’t be harmed because the gargoyle (again with the eye roll) believes it is keeping him safe from the big bad, i.e. you.” This time his hand indicated roughly all the werewolves in the room.

  
The werewolves were then sent out in the areas John had highlighted as most likely to be Stiles’ place of confinement, each with specific instructions _not_  to do anything other than call in the humans when they found a trace of him.

  
When Derek did catch a scent of Stiles – finally, and exactly where the sheriff had suggested he might be – it took every ounce of strength he owned to not go diving in head first. The fact that Peter was literally holding him back may have helped a bit too, but the thought of damaging Stiles further managed to just outweigh his overwhelming desire to see him, to check he was okay. To work out why he could catch the faintest scent of his blood on the air. Exactly as he would do for any member of his pack.

  
Time seemed to stand still as he waited for the human contingent to turn up. Cars had to obey traffic laws for the most part, even if the sheriff of Beacon Hills was in charge.

  
“Stay here Derek,” John said, looking at Peter and not Derek for confirmation. “As soon as he’s out you can see him. I know pack and...” He did the twiddly hand thing again. God Stiles took after his father.

  
****

  
Stiles was pretty sure he was dying. He had never been this cold in his life, at some point he’d realised they were somewhere with some kind of refrigeration going on, though it wasn’t a thought that had stayed coherently with him, just another random thought that strolled in and out of his aching head, just as consciousness seemed to grace his body only from time-to-time.

  
The stone thing...gargoyle his brain helpfully supplied...had not said a word, just paced up and down for however long they’d been there. And to be honest, Stiles had no idea of how long that was. It could have been an hour, it could have been a week. He suspected it was actually more like half a day, or a night, or maybe a day and night...but he really wasn’t sure.

  
He let out a breath, not even caring that it billowed in front of him like smoke. He tried to raise his shoulders, to keep the blood circling, but the last bout of unconsciousness had put paid to that idea. He couldn’t feel his extremities, all his limbs felt as if they were at that giant stage of numbness just before pins-and-needles sets in.

  
_Where the hell is Scott? Where the hell is Derek?_ The two questions had been turning over and over in his mind. When he’d let his thoughts stray to being rescued (which they naturally had from time to time (constantly)), it was Derek he imagined bursting through the door. Derek and Scott with the rest of the pack backing him up. Each of the wolves would use their sheer strength to obliterate the gargoyle.

  
What he wasn’t expecting was his dad to burst through the door, gun aimed with Deaton behind him muttering something gibberish and closely followed by Chris and Allison crossbows drawn. 

  
“Dad...”Stiles called before the world darkened again and closed in around him. Even as black filled his vision he could hear his dad shooting and the orders her barked out to Allison to check Stiles. Stiles tried to say he was okay, but the blackness swallowed him before he could.

  
The next thing he was aware of was lying in the back of his dad’s patrol car with Melissa McCall calling his name softly, while her fingers gently prodded the back of his head. At least he assumed it was a gentle prodding, because it actually felt like she was jamming her fingers into the cut he knew to be there with all the strength she possessed.

  
“Owwww,” he muttered, opening his eyes wider and taking a deep breath. He was covered in a blanket, he could feel its scratchy fibers, but he still felt so cold. Then he realised he was shivering violently.

  
“S...s..so cold,” he managed to spit out.

  
“I know sweetie, I just need to check your pupils, then we’ll get you to the hospital.”

  
“NO!” Stiles tried to sit but the motion made him dizzy. “No hospital, please Ms McCall.”

  
“It’s the safest place for you Stiles, you’ve lost a lot of body heat, bodering on hypothehermic. I’m...”

  
“Is the injury to his head bad?” 

  
Derek. Derek was here. For reasons he was way to out of it to analyze Stiles felt safer knowing the sourwolf was lurking nearby. That he had come to find him.

  
“Nothing a couple of stitches wouldn’t take care of,” Melissa answered him. “But I don’t want him alne for at least a day, if not two.”

  
“I...We, _the pack_ , can do that,” Derek said. “We can warm him up, wolves run hot, you know that, we can stay with him for the next week if needs be. I know you have to go to work and so does John, but _I_ can look after him.”

  
“Please Ms McCall, no hospital.” Stiles may have used his puppy dog eyes, the ones that had worked on his best friend’s mom since they were in kindergarten.

  
“He’ll need to be kept warm and woken every couple of hours for the first night. Any... _ANY..._ sign of dizziness, blurred vision, drowsiness that you can’t rouse him from, bleeding, sickness... I want him taken straight to the emergency room. Do you hear me? Do not pass go, do not collect $200, straight to the ER.”

  
“Yes ma’am,” said Derek in a subdued tone that would have had Stiles laughing if he didn’t think it would hurt so much.

  
Then his dad was there, giving him a gentle one armed hug and agreeing with Derek and Melissa about the best way to care for his son. He was going into the station to fill in a report about vandalism at the local church...after they’d transported the remains of the gargoyle back _to_ the church. Trying to explain why the stone remains of a centuries old gargoyle were in the refrigerated room of one of Beacon Hill’s old warehouses would not be easy to explain away. 

  
“It’ll save moving you from pillar to post, son,” he said as he checked with Stiles that he was okay to go with the wolves.

  
“I’ll be fine d...dad.” His teeth chattered. “I just need to warm up and these guys are like life-sized hot water bottles.” 

  
With everyone in agreement Stiles let Melissa suture his head before dozing in the back of the patrol vehicle. The next thing he knew was a pair of strong arms swooping him up, and cuddling him against the strongest, warmest chest. 

  
“Derek.” His voice was lazy, sleepy but he felt safe. For the first time since the lacrosse practise had ended he felt safe. Snuggling closer into the solid haven of security, he breathed in the musky-leather scent that relaxed him better than aromatherapy oils and drifted back off to sleep.

  
He was with his wolf and he was safe.


End file.
